the main deck, have been barricaded and caulked. Not until we are in
the Pacific and flying north will these doors open again.

And while we prepare to battle around the stormiest headland in the
world our situation on board grows darker. This morning Petro
Marinkovich, a sailor in Mr. Mellaire's watch, was found dead on
Number One hatch. The body bore several knife-wounds and the throat
was cut. It was palpably done by some one or several of the
forecastle hands; but not a word can be elicited. Those who are
guilty of it are silent, of course; while others who may chance to
know are afraid to speak.

Before midday the body was overside with the customary sack of coal.
Already the man is a past episode. But the humans for'ard are tense
with expectancy of what is to come. I strolled for'ard this
afternoon, and noted for the first time a distinct hostility toward
me. They recognize that I belong with the after-guard in the high
place. Oh, nothing was said; but it was patent by the way almost
every man looked at me, or refused to look at me. Only Mulligan
Jacobs and Charles Davis were outspoken.

"Good riddance," said Mulligan Jacobs. "The Guinea didn't have the
spunk of a louse. And he's better off, ain't he? He lived dirty,
an' he died dirty, an' now he's over an' done with the whole dirty
game. There's men on board that oughta wish they was as lucky as
him. Theirs is still a-coming to 'em."

"You mean . . . ?" I queried.

"Whatever you want to think I mean," the twisted wretch grinned